Page 34 of Masquerade Mistake
Emptier, I decide. Yes, it’s been hard and I’ve had to grow up fast, but I think I’m more grounded as Finn’s mother than I would have been in a different life.
“And this is the bedroom,” he says. I glance at the closet, noticing the pile oozing out of the space just as he rushes past me to kick it all back in before closing the doors.
“Now I know how you keep your place so clean,” I laugh. “You knew I was coming over, didn’t you?”
“I hoped,” he admitted. I took a sidestep toward the closet, and he moved forward to block me. “Don’t even think of it, Sparky,” he says.
I start when I hear him say that. It’s my word. But the way he says it sends a tingle of familiarity down my spine.
Easy there, Sparky. You’ve had a little much to drink.
I just realized where my word originated from.
“What’s wrong?”
Ethan drops his defensive stance and steps toward me. I mentally shake myself free from the memory.
“Nothing.” I grin, attempting to prove I’m fine. But inside, I can’t help but wonder if my memories from the past are going to continue to haunt our present. We only knew each other a few hours, and our shared past has affected my whole life. “I’m just relieved to see you’re as human as I am,” I say.
“You may end up regretting how human I really am,” he admits. “But first impressions are everything. So for now, the junk closet stays shut.”
Without warning, he tackles me to the bed as I squeal and pretend to fight him off. We both slow at the same time, and then his mouth covers mine. His kiss is gentle, unrushed. His hand plays in my hair spread over his quilt, the other cupping the back of my head as his body covers mine. I clasp his bicep, then move to his back, feeling the peaks and valleys of his muscles ripple under my hands. My need burns inside me, growing into wildfire as his tongue explores mine. I’m hungry for him. But as much as I want him, I’m afraid to go to the next level. I hesitate, just barely, but enough that he breaks our kiss and looks down at me. His eyes are kind, erasing any fear that my reservations will disappoint him.
“We’re just kissing,” he says. “Nothing else, I promise.”
I nod, and tears unexpectedly fill my eyes. I don’t know what is making me emotional. It could be his tender thoughtfulness, or maybe the fact that after all these years, I’m here with him and he’s everything I hoped he’d be. Whatever it is, my tears don’t scare him away. He lightly brushes them with his fingers, then kisses me again. He keeps true to his word, even when I relax, opening my mouth to deepen the kiss. This time when he breaks away, I’m amused by the struggle he tries to hide. A glance below the belt, and his arousal is obvious.
“We should probably go to bed,” he says, lifting off the bed. He crosses the room to his dresser and pulls out a t-shirt, which he hands to me. “I have an extra toothbrush in the bathroom drawer, if you want it.”
I bite back my smile. My own toothbrush. I know it’s weird to think this is such a huge deal, but it just is. Will I keep it here? Will he store it next to his?
We brush our teeth at the same time, but he finishes before I do and heads to the bedroom. I linger once I’m done, then place my toothbrush next to his in the medicine cabinet. Then I wash my face, taking my time as I study the content on the shelves in front of me. His razor and shaving cream. A brush. Some floss. Even a night guard for his teeth. Why I find the night guard adorable, I don’t know.
I slip his t-shirt over my head, and it hangs like a dress. That’s a good thing since the only underwear I have with me is a thong. I can’t believe I brought an overnight bag, and it’s sitting in Maren’s living room. My bare cheeks rub against the cotton shirt, and even though I’m covered, I feel completely naked as I step back into the bedroom. Ethan is already undressed and in bed, and my eyes widen when I take in his tattooed chest and arms.
“I’m wearing boxers,” he assures me. I figured he was, but he still seems so naked. I’m not sure how I’ll sleep next to him all night, feeling his body next to mine.
I crawl into bed, carefully slipping under the covers without revealing my near nudity under his shirt. It smells like him. So do the covers as I pull them up to my chin. It’s intoxicating.
He scoots down in bed and we face each other on the pillows.
“What’s your usual night routine,” he asks.
“You really want to know something that boring?”
“I want to know everything about you.”
Why do his words make me feel so gushy inside?
“It starts around seven when I start to put Finn to bed.” I continue with what I do every evening, from reading Finn a bedtime story to dealing with his multiple questions or requests. “Once he’s finally out, I spend the next few hours in my studio. I spend a lot of my day running errands, cleaning the house, and buying supplies, so my nights are when I get really involved in the creative process.”
I’d learned early on that if I want uninterrupted time with my projects, nighttime was a sure bet. The distractions were minimal, and my mind seemed to wake up once Finn was asleep and I didn’t have to worry about him.
“Every night?” he asks, and I nod. He appears troubled by this. “But how do you do anything fun? Like go out on dates?”
“I haven’t dated for a very long time,” I admit, and my cheeks heat up when I see how puzzled he looks. “It’s complicated. I have fun, but most of my fun includes Finn.”
I can see the questions rolling around in his head, but he swallows them with a smile. “Okay, after you’re done with your work, then what?”